"Where is Mark?" asked Grace. "I have not seen him for three or four days."
"Gone off on some secret expedition. Said he might be gone several days. Grace, I believe he is trailing Big Tom. He has an idea he will return and wreak his vengeance on us."
Grace turned pale. "What! Mark gone, all alone?" she asked.
"Yes. Mark seems to prefer to go alone. I don't think we are in as much danger from Big Tom as he thinks, but there is no telling. Some of these guerrilla bands are nothing more or less than robbers, and they care little whom they rob. But I must go now. Don't worry. I won't be long."
Mr. Chittenden was gone some two hours, and when he returned he did not seem in the best of spirits. Grace had been anxiously waiting his return.
"How is it, father?" she cried. "I thought I saw smoke."
"Yes, they have burned a great deal of the train," answered Mr. Chittenden, gloomily. "The worst part of it is, it is only a small scouting party that has done the mischief—not over fifty men—and they have captured four hundred prisoners without firing a gun."
"That doesn't look as if one Southern man could whip ten Yankees," replied Grace, with a twinkle in her eyes.
"Grace, I believe you are glad that train was captured," said her father, with more feeling than he had ever manifested toward her.
"I surely am," replied Grace, undaunted. "You well know I am for the Union."